Birdsong
by mayzee
Summary: A tag to Blue Bird to add to the million others out there. Lisbon's thoughts as she waits to see Jane and just beyond it. Hope you enjoy. Reviews, as ever, are appreciated.


**A/N: This episode tag is dedicated to my lovely friend French Pumpkin who asked me for a Blue Bird tag a long time ago (among others). Hope you like this one containing Lisbon's narrative and have a great birthday today, honey. Thank you for all our lovely discussions, your encouragement, motivation, friendship and support. You're an absolute sweetheart.**

 **Joyeux Anniversaire, my dear!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist or any of its characters, and that includes most of the dialogue in this oneshot.**

* * *

Birdsong

The hard plastic of the chair digs into my spine. I lean back and tilt my head so it lies against the cold breeze block grey walls behind. Stretching slowly, I work out the kinks and roll my shoulders.

I've been sitting here for two hours now in this dimly lit airport corridor. My FBI credentials and a rather embarrassing call to Abbott were enough to get me back here to this little seen secure area, away from the hordes of travellers I fought my way through scarlet-faced after getting off the plane.

It's not like the public areas, bright and buzzing with fast paced footsteps in all directions but, for me right now, it's filled with that same anticipation people often feel when in airports – palpable excitement of a new adventure ahead laced with a little fear. It's entirely apt. My stomach tightens in anticipation and agreement.

My boss didn't say much when I called but he almost sounded amused by Jane's antics. I could tell he was trying to appear aggrieved but I caught the lightness in his voice too, perhaps even some relief. I've been working with Jane long enough to have picked up some skills in reading people myself, even over the phone.

He didn't seem all that surprised, either. I only realised why when I was told Jane had abandoned _his_ vehicle at the airport entrance – yet another charge to add to his growing list of them a few hours before. He told me he was caught up with closing the case (Jane managed to catch the killer after all, naturally, even amidst our painful parting and the tears we both shed on both sides of my door). So, Abbott said he'd be here to release Jane as soon as he was done and for me to speak to him first. He told me to 'smooth the waters'. In what context, I'm not entirely sure. But my gut tells me it isn't the trouble Jane has got into with the TSA.

It's quiet here but my thoughts are anything but. I'm incapable of closing my eyes and resting although I'm exhausted both emotionally and physically. It's been a hell of a day. I drain the dregs of weak cold coffee from the paper cup beside me and tap my foot on the ground impatiently. I get up, walk about and sit down again. Again and again until I count every brick in this wall.

God, I hate that song and now it's playing on a loop in my head. I switch it to _Birdhouse in your Soul_ for a reason I don't know (maybe I heard it in that lousy coffee shop I visited a while back) and find myself humming along to its cheery tune. I've never overly analysed the lyrics before, but now I do a part of me wonders if that's what I've been to Jane all these years - a safe place that gives him some peace as he rests, a glimmer of light in the darkest of nights. I find comfort if that's even vaguely true. And guilty that he hasn't felt that from me in some time, his increasingly tired expression of late one I've been trying my best to ignore. Jeez, I'm so drained and on edge I've taken to philosophising based on a pop song.

Marcus has called me. Twice. I've texted him back, taken the coward's way out. I can't talk to him. I know I need to but not yet. _Just some loose ends to tie up. Had to delay my flight. I'll call you later or in the morning._ Loose ends? Was there ever such an understatement?

But I already know it's over with him. No matter what happens or doesn't happen with Jane in the future I can't be with him. Not now. Too much has been said.

 _The truth is - I love you._

Thinking of those words again my heart rate picks up pace just like it did the first time and I release a breath. Marcus never made me feel that way, grand gestures and all, I've come to realise far too late. I just hope he'll understand I never meant to hurt him.

Images flash through my mind constantly of the man who's occupied much of my waking thoughts and vivid dreams for what seems like forever. It's not the first time I've worried for him and, considering some transgressions of his past, bursting onto a plane is small potatoes compared to most of them. But I do, anyway. It's who I am and who I've always been since the day we met. Frankly, I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't.

* * *

Finally, I've been told I can see him shortly and my palms are sweaty. I pull out some tissues from my bag to wipe them and check my makeup while I'm at it. I look up and down the corridor to see if it's empty before applying a little more foundation. I add a light touch of mascara and lipstick. I tell myself I'm not doing it for him, it's just because of the heat in this damn airport and the rush from the plane to here that I look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards. It's just to freshen up. I brush my hair and apply a tiny drop of some perfume I find a sample of in my bag behind my ears. Just something to do to pass the time, of course. It smells faintly of hydrangeas and my lips curl upwards as I recall the first flower he ever handed me. It's hard to believe it's not a coincidence and I vaguely wonder if Jane planted it there on purpose. Although I know he didn't. Right?

I spy a half packet of opened mints and eat one. I try not to think about the connotations regarding that action although my stomach is swirling as I breathe in peppermint.

All the time I'm replaying what happened on the plane. If I'd been watching it on television in some cheesy rom-com I'd have rolled my eyes at the absurdity of it all. But being the one he had dashed to see and stupidly jumping over a fence to do so – well, it's just about the romantic thing I've ever encountered. No wonder the girls in those movies cried just like I did. Still angry, I'd told him it was too late. I hadn't even known the jackass had injured himself at first or what he'd done to see me until he was arrested seconds later. And even being hauled away he kept repeating the words, kept saying he loved me, over and over. Every time he said them, lingering doubts over his motivation began to ebb away. There's still some doubt there, though, as much as instinct tells me he was telling me the absolute truth, I still require some assurance that his stunt wasn't meant to shock me into staying. Or that there will be some sort of caveat to his words in the cold light of day.

 _I love you...but..._

But as I watched him hobble away on the runway, guards either side of him, his head bowed, I knew I couldn't let go of him. I never wanted to in the first place. I just needed more than I thought he was ever going to be able to give me. Now...well...now...perhaps...

"Agent Lisbon?"

Lost in my thoughts I jump at the TSA agent's voice a few feet away, his hand on the door handle at the end of the corridor.

"Yes?" My heart is pumping as I quickly get off the chair. Does he look a little like Marcus or am I imagining that?

"You can see him for a few minutes." He nods to an interior door I hadn't seen just beyond him. Solemnly, "Just in there."

"Thank you." My voice is shaking and so are my legs and I think I might just throw up. Then something amusing hits me that allows me to relax a little - how fitting is it that the most important conversation of our lives is going to happen in an interrogation room?

I smile at the thought and the agent before me shoots me a quizzical and highly suspicious look. I nod sympathetically, look grave instead.

As I place my hand on the door handle inside I prepare myself with that thought uppermost in my mind. Telling myself that this is an interrogation helps me substantially. I've taken part in and controlled hundreds of them. And, as always, I'm ready to get the truth from the man on the other side of the table.

* * *

He doesn't look up when I open the door. He's looking (but not really looking) at his foot propped up on a chair instead, his fingers pressed against his lips. He's pensive. Sad almost. Then he looks at me when I sit down. He's shocked and doesn't attempt to hide it. He's staring at me like he's wondering if he's hallucinating. I'm more astonished he didn't figure out I'd always come.

"Hi," he says, his voice struggling. I see his chest heaving and I know his heart is beating as fast as mine is.

He's recovered to something near a normal easygoing tone by the time we talk about the pickle he's in and I ask about his ankle. This is the easy stuff. But he's also distracted and he's trying to read me all the time. To ask without asking what my intentions are. Same old Jane.

Finally he states, "You didn't go to D.C." There's questioning in his voice but the beginning of a smile, too. I don't know if he's unsure of his read of me or if he just needs to hear the confirmation of the conclusion he's already come to.

I figure brevity is best. Plus I can hardly breathe. "No."

Sheer relief washes over him and he half smiles. His breathing, laboured, finally calms down. He's lost for words. I told him I'd surprise him one day and it looks like this is it.

Now it's my turn. "Did you mean what you said?" I can't stop the nervous quiver in my voice.

He answers immediately. "Yes, I did."

Then he makes some crack about pickles just as I'm smiling at his response. I really could kill this man sometimes. But I'm still smiling. Because I know now how he feels about me. _I know_. I can see it all over his face despite his joke. Part of me can't believe this is actually happening. Hell, most of me can't believe this is actually happening.

I wonder how it's possible for his expressions to change so quickly, from what was toughtful and doubtful to cool and confident at lightning speed. Though his face, eased of its thick lines now, is staring at me with something close to amused and his eyes sparkle with satisfaction, I see something else in them too, glistening unshed under the iridescent fluorescent tube overhead. Tears. They're not teetering over the precipice of his eyes out of joy or of despair, it's relief I see instead. And love. So much love. I catch a breath. I'm not used to men looking at me like this. I'm amending my statement as soon as it's entered my head – I'm not used to _him_ looking at me this way.

Joyful.

Unguarded.

Hopeful. _Almost._

Because this is Patrick Jane and hopeful is not a word I can associate with him. But this is as close as I've ever seen. Perhaps more can be coaxed in time. My heart palpitates against my ribcage that I'm already thinking of a future with us as we are now.

But I still need to hear the truth, I remind myself. I still need the confirmation. This interrogation isn't over yet.

"No, no, the other thing," I remind him.

"Oh, that."

"This is no joking matter." I'm trying to act firm but I can't keep the damn smile off my lips.

His face changes again. He's letting me see behind the curtain. He's showing me how he feels. And all I see is honesty and love.

"Yes, I meant what I said. Every word."

He's still afraid, too. Of what this means for us. But I can't fault him for that. I'm scared too. But I think we're ready. At last, I think we're ready. I tell him I feel the same way.

His smile is the brightest I've ever seen it. "Well, that's lucky."

Then his face falls slightly when he asks about Pike. I haven't even thought about him since I came into this room. "He'll understand." I hope.

Suddenly I'm feeling giddy and I want to know what it feels like when he tells me he loves me without one hundred onlookers hearing it simultaneously, when it's just the two of us. "Say it again."

He's back to his self assured and cocky self again now. "Say what again?"

I shoot him half a glare.

Suddenly there's more than love in his eyes, there's passion in them too. He's moving off his chair before I can process it. I didn't expect this but dear god I prayed for it. I've dreamt of it many, many times over the years. He's a little nervous despite his bravado and licks his lips just before he tilts my chin to draw my parted mouth towards his. I lean forward and we close our eyes.

We kiss.

I stop thinking.

\- THE END -


End file.
